


Aconite

by Rurobito



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Romance, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 22:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10706208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rurobito/pseuds/Rurobito
Summary: Draco Malfoy is turned into a werewolf the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts. Abandoned by his friends and struggling to come to terms with his new life he turns to the one person he never thought he would; Hermione Granger. With the wizarding war coming, new alliances are formed and beliefs are tested.





	Aconite

 

 **It** was nearing midnight and Lucius Malfoy was sitting alone in his office, reading a long letter that had arrived from the Ministry that morning. The words passed by him in a blur, each sentence barely being processed before he moved on to the next.

He was certain word of his punishment would come soon and found that he just couldn’t bring himself to focus on the Muggle-Born Registration Act he was due to present to the Ministry in a matter of months.

He was caught between wondering what such a punishment would be and trying to concoct a scheme to ferret out of it. So far he had been largely unsuccessful.

The more he attempted to make himself focus on the words before him, the more his mind raced through the possibilities the Dark Lord might choose as a punishment. It was entirely dependent on the Dark Lord’s mood of course. But Lucius could help but think that his master had something particularly awful up his sleeve this time.

Would he feed his dear Narcissa to Nagini? He doubted it, but then again, the great wizard wasn’t above enacting punishments on innocent parties.

Naturally, Lucius was confident that his son Draco would escape whatever the Dark Lord had planned, his son had made an impression on the wizard and was quickly becoming something of a protegee. Lucius couldn’t have been prouder.

But one thing he knew for certain was that the punishment would be swift and severe, and he just knew his sister in law would be there cackling away as he was dealt with. Bellatrix had always hated him, for what reason he didn’t know nor did he particularly care. If Narcissa hadn’t made him promise not to harm her sister, he would have put Bellatrix down long ago.

If only he managed to snag that prophecy. Everything would have been fine if he had managed to pull it from the Department of Mysteries in time, but as always that Potter boy had gotten in the way. The connection between the boy and his master was becoming almost too dangerous, making it almost impossible for them to make a move without being blocked by Potter and his band of merry do-gooders.

Did they not understand how important their agenda was? This was for the betterment of wizarding kind everywhere. No more mud-bloods to taint ancient bloodlines, those abominable centaurs brought to heel, complete isolation from the muggle world - It was what the wizarding community desperately needed.

Lucius felt this desperation keenly; hailing from such an ancient bloodline himself, one that was able to be traced back to the great Salazar Slytherin – One of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

There was something to be said about a family that had been able to maintain a pure-blood status such as his. The Malfoy’s were the epitome of proper breeding, good sense, and with wealth that could not be outmatched. It _had_ to be preserved.

He had already begun negotiations with Alatar Greengrass to broker a betrothal between Draco and Alatar’s youngest daughter Astoria. The Greengrass’s, like the Malfoy’s, were an ancient pure-blood line. Such a union was necessary to preserve such an enduring legacy.  

Dropping the long-neglected letter back on the desk, Lucius stretched his arms above his head and cast his eye over the room. It was, of course, the pinnacle of good taste with a black marble fireplace facing his antique mahogany desk. The dark walls were sparse save the severe portrait of Abraxas Malfoy, who had a glare so icy it made one’s blood run cold just from looking at it for more than a second.

A soft crack sounded and in a small puff of smoke Dotty, one of the Malfoy’s last three remaining house-elves, appeared before him.

“Master,” she said in a squeaky voice. “Mrs Malfoy asked Dotty to collect the Master sir.”

Lucius raked his eye over the almost pathetically small creature with a sneer; “What have I said about disturbing me?”

Dotty wound her hands through the dirty linen cloth she used to preserve what little dignity she had.

“Never sir,” Dotty said contritely. “I would never disobey you sir but Mrs Malfoy told me to come. She said a visitor has arrived and he is not to wait.”

“Back to the kitchens with you,” he dismissed.

Dotty didn’t disappear straight away; “Master Draco is to go with you sir, Mrs Malfoy told Dotty not to forget that. She said it was very important for Dotty to tell the master so.”

“Leave now,” his voice eerily calm, nothing got under his skin more than a house-elf that didn’t know their place. “Before I curse you into next week.”

The small creature disappeared without another word, knowing full well that her master _always_ made good on his threats.

Swallowing hard, it occurred to Lucius that the eleventh hour was upon him. Dotty hadn’t told him just _who_ had arrived, it could be any number of his contemporaries, but he knew one thing for certain. Whatever the Dark Lord had in mind it would occur that evening – there was no other reason he would be entertaining a guest otherwise.

Lucius did the only thing that he could, he steeled himself, stood from his desk and made his way to where he knew his son would be sleeping.

He didn’t bother to knock on his son’s door, instead, he just pushed it open with no difficulty at all.

His son’s room was the most decorated in the entire house; his walls covered in posters from various Quidditch teams. His signed poster from the English Team took pride of place over the head of his bed. Slytherin flags were pinned to the white walls, while his son and his friends smiled out at from the small collection of photographs Draco had placed atop his dressing table.  

Even in the darkness, Lucius could make out Draco’s almost white hair spread across his green pillow. He had never seen his son asleep like this before and he couldn’t help but note how boyish he looked, not so much like the sixteen-year-old who was desperate to seek the approval of his father.

“Draco,” Lucius hissed into the darkness. “Wake up.”

The boy mumbled incoherently, rolled over on his stomach, and snored deeply.

“Draco,” he tried again raising his voice slightly. 

There was silence for a moment before Draco slurred “father?” sleepily.

“Get up Draco,” he said firmly. “The Dark Lord is waiting.”

“What’s going on?” Draco asked in confusion.

“Just get up,” Lucius replied firmly as Draco threw his covers back and began to search for some clothes to put on. “Don’t bother getting dressed, we must go down now.”

“Yes father,” Draco followed his father as he turned from the room.

Lucius led Draco down the hallway and towards the stairwell. All eyes were on them as they passed the through the portrait hall on their way to the parlour. Malfoy ancestors – all blonde and all exclusively dressed in black – tried to commandeer their attention to no avail.

Reaching the foyer, Draco followed is father into the front parlour. A small room, decorated exclusively in forest green and black. For the most part, the room was the primarily used for Death Eater meetings, anywhere between ten to fifty people all dressed in the same dark robes would congregate there once a month.

In the centre of a room, a man dressed entirely in black scowled deeply as the pair entered. Lucius didn’t take his expression personally, the man scowled at anyone or anything thing without prejudice.   

Where his son stood out in his white t-shirt, green silk boxer shorts and his platinum hair askew in an almost boyish manner. Corban Yaxley was a sight all on his own. The greying man wore his stringy hair tied back into a simple leather cord, his face etched with menacing lines the both belayed his experience and age – but he somehow managed to blend into the room with ease, almost disappearing in it entirely.  

“Malfoy’s,” his voice held a distinct East London accent.

“Yaxley,” Lucius nodded in acknowledgement.  

“Time’s up Lucius,” Yaxley told him cruelly. “And you brought young Draco along, the Dark Lord will be most _pleased_.”

“Where are we going?”

Yaxley’s face contorted into a poor imitation of a smile, “Now, now Lucius where is the fun in that? I thought you enjoyed _mysteries_.”

Lucius prickled at Yaxley’s implication – the man didn’t know what really had occurred that day. And how could he when he when he was off on his own revenge mission? Why the Dark Lord had pick Yaxley of all people to escort them was beyond him.

“Now, now Corban,” Lucius mocked. “You wouldn’t want to forget your place now would you?”

Grinning arrogantly, Yaxley took a step forward. “I have been forgiven. Unlike someone I could mention.”

“You needed to seek forgiveness,” Lucius sneered. “You turned craven, not I.”

Yaxley’s giant fist balled at his side, his anger barely contained; “Aye, I turned away there is no denying that. But everything I have done since he came back has been done in the name of the Dark Lord. There is no one who could say otherwise. Can the same be said of you?”

“I have dedicated my entire life to the Dark Lord,” Lucius flicked his long platinum hair over his shoulder.

“Yes, it sure does _seem_ that way,” Yaxley’s dark eyes glinted dangerously. “But who really knows whether you failed your duty on purpose.”

Lucius clenched his teeth, his jaw ticking slightly, but it was Draco you spoke instead.

“How dare you question my father?” Draco snapped as he stepped in front of his father in a protective manner.

Yaxley smiled widely, baring his yellow teeth menacing; “Hiding behind a mere boy Lucius? Is nothing beneath you?”

“How dare-”

“Quiet boy,” Lucius cuffed Draco upside the head before turning his full attention to Yaxley. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“Aye, it is. I propose we leave before the Dark Lord gets restless.”

“Father, should I-”

“There is no time,” Lucius said. “Come as you are.”

“But I don’t have my wand,” Draco’s eyes darted from side to side nervously. “Surely I can go and grab it.”

He wasn’t given the opportunity to argue further, however as Lucius took him by his sleeve and told him to clear his mind. Yaxley said something about the Forest of Dean before he disapperated in a whirl of black smoke.

Lucius felt the familiar pull at his guts as he held Draco’s arm tighter to his body to try and avoid splinching, before they disappeared with a loud crack.

>>><<< 

Draco had the overwhelming urge to vomit when they reappeared in what he assumed was the Forest of Dean. Willing the nausea away, he looked around himself trying to get his bearings.

The forest was quiet, too quiet. Not even a creature had dared to disturb the grounds. For what reason Draco didn’t know, but it was unnatural. A fissure of fear ran up his spine, there was something inherently wrong about this place, but he failed to put his finger on just what that was.

A full moon hung heavy in the cloudless sky bathing the forest in a silver glow, making the trees almost ghostly in appearance. Had he not been almost paralysed with fear, he would have thought it beautiful. There was something truly otherworldly about this place, Draco almost expected to see faeries dancing amongst the trees to a song only they could hear – reminding him of the tales his mother used to tell him as a child.

“Come Draco,” Lucius commanded coolly.

He followed without fuss or hesitation – there would be no point, he couldn’t leave even if he wanted too. Draco made a point to take note of landmarks of any significance in case they got separated.

Lucius walked fast, his strides long and confident. Draco, on the other hand, being significantly shorter than his father, had to almost jog to keep up. The damp ground clung to his bare feet and he wished he had been allowed to grab a pair of shoes before he was forced from his house.

It concerned him, he father would never let him leave the house looking anything other than immaculately groomed, so why had he let him leave in just a shirt and some boxer shorts? It made no sense.

The man must be worried, he supposed, the fight that had gone awry at the Ministry must have still been plaguing his thoughts.

What had happened in the Prophecy Hall wasn’t his father’s fault. Draco was sure that his father was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, at least that is what he had been told by the man. Draco had no reason to suppose he was lying either – his father had never lied to him in the past, opting instead for almost callous honesty that seemed to do more harm than good.

Draco hadn’t been there of course, he still hadn’t proven himself to the Dark Lord, even his father vouching for him wasn’t enough. He was oddly relieved by it, not really knowing if it was a good or bad thing that he had been denied a place in the Dark Lord’s inner circle.

As they made their way further into the forest Lucius kept a tight grip on Draco’s arm, his nails digging painfully into the unblemished flesh. It was this that made his mind drift back to his third year at Hogwarts, which seemed like a lifetime ago, and the ridiculous Boggart exercise that crack pot Lupin had them do.

When Draco had gotten to face the shape-shifting creature it had transformed itself into the form of his father. It had confused him at the time, but now being essentially dragged through the trees and scrub effectively defenceless he had never been quite as scared as he had in that moment.

If only he could banish his father the same way he could the boggart – which a quick swish of his wand and the word “Riddikulus” – then he would be tucked up in bed in that moment, warm, dry, and safe.

He had the sneaking suspicion that he was a lamb being lead to the slaughter and he found he didn’t like that feeling one bit. As soon as he was awakened and the Dark Lord mentioned, he knew deep down something was wrong – he had never been privy to Death Eater meetings before that moment and he doubted that was going to change.

It was why he could rule out being initiated as a Death Eater. He simply wasn’t good enough, besides an affinity for potion-making and occlumency, he was disturbingly average in all other aspects of magic. Whether that was due to natural ability or his failure to make himself care about his education he didn’t know.

Blinking slowly as he heard voices just beyond a small rise, he felt his heart beat quicken almost painfully so.

Lucius stopped suddenly, turning to look his son directly in the eye; “You will not shame me Draco.”

He didn’t think there was anything he could do to shame the man and the Malfoy name. He had no wand, no clothes, not even shoes. What did his father possibly think he was going to do?

“Never.”

“Good, I don’t know what the Dark Lord has planned, but I do have an inkling,” Lucius said, his eyes boring into Draco’s. “Speak only when spoken too. You are to be seen not heard. Got it?” Draco nodded. “Good. Then there should be no problems… For either of us.”

His father’s words did little ease his fears if anything it just served to make him more anxious.

The voices grew louder as the pair walked up the gentle slope in silence. He could distinctly make out his aunt’s voice boasting about her murder of Sirius Black, detailing every last aspect of the man’s final moments for the amusement of others.

Yaxley was the first person Draco saw as they descended into the group. He was leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette calmly while listening to something another masked Death Eater appeared to be telling him.

Sweeping his eye across those gathered he could only make out a few of the faces. There was Crabbe (the father of his school friend Vincent) standing beside Goyle (the father of another one of his school friends Greggory) talking to each other in hushed tones.

Draco’s aunt Bellatrix Lestrange was towards the front of the group. Her black her fell around her head in a mass of tangles, her body rocking almost constantly back and forwards as if compelled to do so by some unknown force.

She had always set Draco on edge. There was something about her that made him unable to trust her, even his own mother, her sister, didn’t trust the woman as far as she could throw her and that wasn’t very far indeed. Then there was her husband Rodolphus, a man who delighted in making people suffer – Draco wasn’t sure if the man knew any other word than “Crucio”.

There were a number of other faceless men, covered by a small skull mask and dark hoods. Identifying them would be an impossible task but Draco found he could live his life quite contentedly without needing that information. In fact, he was more than certain that ignorance in this particular case would be bliss. Whilst knowledge is power, too much of it is dangerous and he wanted to keep his hands as clean as possible.

Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself, stood front and centre of the group. The bald man, dressed solely is black was taking in the scene around him with cool detachment as he pet the head of his snake Nagini almost lovingly.

His dark red eyes locked on where Draco and Lucius were walking in from. Having never seen the man before, Draco was taken aback by the distinct snake-like quality his face had. Voldemort had no nose, instead had two slits almost dead centre on his grey face. There was something predatory in the way his lip curled up into a farce of a smile and the way his spindly arms swept out to greet the newcomers.

“Ah… Lucius,” he greeted coldly. “My old friend and you bought young Draco. What an absolute delight.”

“My Lord,” Lucius replied as moved forward in front of the Dark Lord, and performed a sweeping bow so low it was almost comical. “What an unexpected invitation.”

Lucius straightened himself before his master’s critical gaze.

“Is it?” Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. “I thought you would have been expecting this meeting for quite some weeks now.”

“I don’t catch your meeting my Lord.”

“Do you not?” Voldemort turned to his followers and said; “I think he’s forgotten what happened at the Ministry. I think he’s forgotten that he failed to secure the prophecy. I think he’s even forgotten that he _failed_ me.”

His speech was met with cheers and taunts, the loudest of which came from Bellatrix who couldn’t help but relish in the suffering of her brother in law.

“My Lord-”

“Silence! What to do. What to do. What to _do_ ,” Voldemort pondered. “Whatever ever should I do?”

“Crucio him,” called Rodophus.

“Feed him to Nagini,” one of the masked men called.

“Give him to Greyback,” shouted another.

“Let me have some _fun_ with him,” came Bellatrix’s voice.

With each idea thrown out into the night Draco’s blood ran colder and colder. By the time Bellatrix had voiced her opinion he was practically hypothermic. They couldn’t be serious. Could they? His father was one of their most loyal supporters, wasn’t he?

“Enough children,” Voldemort ordered without so much as raising his voice, turning his attention once more to Lucius and Draco. “You’ll scare young Draco.”

At that Bellatrix cackled, her gaze glassy and unfocused. “Poor _baby_ Draco…” She mocked.

Draco opened his mouth to retort before Lucius cut in; “My Lord, I have come to face to punishment do what you will,” his gaze locked onto Yaxley. “I am no coward.”

“It warms my heart to hear that Lucius you have served me faithfully for so long. However, it is not you who will bear punishment this night.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Draco frantically looked between his father and Voldemort in panic. Surely, he misheard. Surely, it was a mistake. Surely…

“My Lord… You cannot mean my son,” Lucius said, his voice far too calm for the situation.

“Who else could I mean? I wanted _dear_ Narcissa for this job, but Bella made me think better of it. It was her who suggested Draco for the role and I must say this gives me infinitely more joy,” Voldemort smiled humourlessly. “Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than tearing a family apart.”

“My Lord,” Lucius began. “I…”

“Do you not want to know what we will do with little Draco?” Voldemort asked in an offhanded manner. “I’m sure _he_ would like to know.”

“My Lord?”

In the distance a wolf howled.

“Did you hear that Lucius? I believe that’s Fenrir on the hunt. What do you say we throw him a bone or a boy? It doesn’t really matter to me, but he does deserve a reward after _his_ efforts at the Ministry,” Lucius stood, stunned into silence. “Nothing to say Lucius? No ‘my Lords’? No pleas for your son? It’s almost admirable. Almost.”

It was then Lucius found his voice once more, “My Lord, please…”

“Now he begs,” Voldemort taunted. “Even your son hasn’t stooped _that_ low and he’s the one in danger.”

The wolf howled again, closer this time, sending a distinct chill down Draco’s spine. He refused to beg though, he wasn’t even sure if he knew how to.

“My Lord…”

“Enough Lucius, I’m growing tired of this and Fenrir is close,” Voldemort said harshly. “Time to go.” Lucius moved to grip Draco’s arm. “He stays.”

Lucius didn’t so much as spare Draco a glance before he disapperated with a loud crack, leaving Draco at the mercy of the others. He didn’t dare say a word, not wanting to let his fear show. Instead, he chose to hold his head high and let his face morph into a mask of cold indifference.

The others began to leave themselves before it was only him and Voldemort.

“At least you aren’t a simpering fool,” Voldemort said. “Though it would have made this endeavour far more enjoyable.” The wolf howled one more, the noise painfully close. “I will say this before I leave; start running.”

Voldemort disappeared in a swirling mass of black smoke, leaving Draco completely alone.

Draco wasn’t a fool, nor was he one to give in easily. So he took the advice he was given and began to run just as another howl cut through the forest.

It was one thing to be left in a forest alone and defenceless (he knew enough basic survival skills to be able to last a few days before he could be rescued), but it was another thing to be left in alone, defenceless, and with werewolf Fenrir Greyback hunting you down.

He tried to conjure up all the information he knew about werewolves, which was limited considering he was in the hospital wing when they were learning about them in his third year.

Draco knew with absolute certainty however that the only way a werewolf could turn another is to bite the witch/wizard or muggle in wolf form during a full moon. Judging by the howls, Draco was certain that Fenrir had indeed made his transformation and it was simply a matter of time before he caught up.  

Knowing that when Fenrir caught up to him it could go one of two ways; he could be turned or Fenrir could rip his throat out. Neither option was particularly pleasant, so Draco sped up as fast as he could go. His legs pumping furiously as he trampled the undergrowth.

Ignoring the burn in his legs, Draco kept running, never looking back - a futile effort to escape. With each howl punctuating the air, he simply urged himself to move faster. With each branch that whipped mercilessly at his face and each stone that sliced into his feet, his determination grew.

He'd met Fenrir Greyback before. He was a child then, only eight or so years old. Draco could still recall the man that was more beast than man – his nails filed into perfect talons, body covered in hair, and eyes so cold, so predatory he could tell that he was being sized for Greyback’s next meal.

Draco would have laughed at the irony of it all if he didn’t have an all-consuming urge to make it out of this situation alive.

Greyback was closer now, Draco could now distinctly hear the beast’s footsteps heavy on the forest debris. He didn’t let that deter him, instead, willing himself to go faster.  

A deep, rumbling growl came from behind him, the acrid stench of rotting meat filling the air. He was caught – hunted down like a rabbit for sport. Still, he ran, not ready to give up and a submit.

He could feel teeth sink into his left arm and Draco was pulled down, his legs fell out beneath him and he landed on the ground with a heavy thud. The last thing he saw before passing out was a bloody muzzle and burning yellow eyes as the beast swiped it’s claws down Draco’s torso – eliciting a burning pain unlike ever he had felt before.


End file.
